


Not in the Mood

by jaimesselfishmachines



Series: Idiot Boyfriends (head over heels and in denial) [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Break Up, Established Relationship, Insults, M/M, Reconciliation, Secrets, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 10:37:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17896859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaimesselfishmachines/pseuds/jaimesselfishmachines
Summary: Arguments can get vicious, and when no punches are pulled, it's only a matter of time before someone throws in the towel.





	Not in the Mood

 

It's been far too long since John has gotten the luxury of falling into the arms of his boyfriend. Anything to distract from the ache in his bones, the bruises that cover his body, the evidence of his role as a freedom fighter. Even when they are apart, they are in sync. Hercules, with the heavy bags under his eyes, and an unfortunate twitch borne of sleep-deprivation, is absolutely beautiful. The tailor’s calloused fingertips are surprisingly apt at massaging away the purple swelling that renders Laurens almost childish in his ability to injure himself. 

Laurens hobbles across the room, turning up the thermostat with the realization that even with the bathrobe wrapped tightly around him, goosebumps line his skin. The dining table is littered with mountains of papers haphazardly arranged into a semi-coherent argument that keeps Hercules up at night, long after Laurens becomes one with dreamland. He's tried to help, but any motion within three feet of the paper mountain and Hercules turns violent, yelling at Laurens to get away from his work, and then something about Laurens being too stupid to understand the  _ shifting of journalistic paradigm.  _

“Pl-please don't raise your voice,” Laurens had stammered, and the look of regret that settled on Herc’s face was immediately visible. He’d pulled Laurens into a bearhug, gushing apologies into Laurens’s neck, every synonym for sorry leaving his lips in a matter of seconds. And whilst begging for forgiveness that evening had turned into begging for permission to cum that night, Laurens hasn't forgotten. 

The tension in Herc’s body is still evident whenever he’s home, and for a couple of days Laurens had thought of just… leaving. 

It wouldn't be hard to just go. Somewhere. Anywhere. He has the money. And Hercules works so much, he'd definitely have enough time to slip away without a trace. 

But Jesus would it hurt. 

So Laurens doesn't leave. He goes to his apartment across town, just long enough for the issues to blow over. To provide Hercules with the space he needs to polish that mountain into something that doesn’t provoke anger in Laurens’ direction. Laurens is more than aware of how quickly yelling can transform into something else entirely. 

To be fair, Hercules  _ probably _ won't hit him. But Laurens isn't a gambling man. He already has enough bruises from the battlefield. He doesn't need any from his boyfriend.

What he needs right now is alone time  _ with his boyfriend _ . Which is why he's standing in the middle of Herc's apartment with the smell of jasmine wafting around him. It's Herc's favourite, and Laurens had scoured every craft store looking for the wax sculptures. Tonight is going to be special. The candles flicker, just as agitated as John is, that they have yet to witness Herc's glorious presence. 

Luckily, neither the candles nor Laurens have to wait too long. Laurens hears the door swing open, the creaky jamb announcing the arrival of every visitor. Laurens had asked about oiling it out, but Hercules was firm in his refusal. _“  
It gives the place character.”_

Either way, Hercules is  _ here _ , in the cozy enclave of the warm apartment, and Laurens is eager to dispell any worries of the outside world. His hands are on Hercules in a second, but eagerness quickly turns to anxiety. Laurens pauses, shocked at how cold Hercules is in his response. Hercules usually has Laurens pressed into the wall by now, hands pawing at his boyfriend's ass, eliciting soft moans with his tongue’s ambitious exploration of Laurens’ mouth. 

But today, Hercules is as frigid as the air outside. 

“Get off me.” Hercules scowls, manually removing his boyfriend’s hands, stymieing their ambitious attempts at setting the tone for a romantic evening. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Hercules, you've been  _ not in the mood  _ since New Years.” Laurens frowns, letting his hands be guided by damp, frozen fingers, and dropped from Herc's chest. “I'm not demanding you fuck me if you don't want to, but I am starting to feel a little… neglected.”

“ _ Neglected? _ ” Hercules gapes at Laurens, stunned for a single moment before he turns to lock the front door. “You have a left hand; use it.” 

The deadlock clunks solidly as he rotates the key, working it out of the slot before turning back to Laurens. The soldier hasn't moved an inch; the only difference is the deepened furrow in his brow. 

“A-are you okay?” 

“Listen,” Hercules growls, eyes narrow, “just because I don't want to have sex with you doesn't mean tha--’

“No, I'm talking about the fact that it took you two minutes to lock the door.” Laurens reaches out, but his hand freezes in mid-air and plummets back to his side. He isn't going to be rejected twice tonight. “What's really going on?” 

Hercules gestures for Laurens to step away. And Laurens does. 

“M-my hands won't stop shaking.” Hercules says, demonstrating it by raising his hand between them, violent tremors refusing to abate long enough for Laurens to even get a good look at the bruises across Herc's knuckles before Hercules snatches his hand back. “I-I can't write, and my thesis deadline is too close. And it takes me forever to sew a placket now,  _ jeez _ Mr Schuyler isn't happy and I just  _ know _ he'll dock my hours. Then I w-won't be able to afford school o-or this place, and--”

“Okay, slow down.” Laurens says softly, holding his hands up to shush Hercules. “When’s the last time you slept?” Laurens asks. It's no secret that Hercules is exhausted. It’s clear in the stumbling his feet are intent on. In the shuffling through snow and ice when his brain is too sleep-deprived to demand he lift his feet.

“Last night. You were literally right next to me.”

“I’m not sure I’d define what you did as  _ sleep _ .” Laurens scoffs. There’s something about Herc tossing and turning for 90 minutes, that gives Laurens an inkling as to why his movements are so slow now. “You're working yourself to an early grave. Just take some time off.”

“I  _ can't. _ ” 

“Then I'll give you the money! You don't have to work, Hercules. Take a break.”

“Oh, fuck off. I don't want your money.” Hercules clenches his jaw. It'll be a cold day in the hell before he relies on another handout. There's no way he'll let this pretty boy come into his life and leave a Lafayette-shaped void. As long as Lafayette had been faithful, there had been love and a place to call home. That all turned to shit the  _ moment _ Lafayette met Xander, that fellow soldier who could understand the war in a way Hercules just couldn’t. So, as soon as Laurens decides he's ready to up and leave, Hercules isn't going to beg him to stay. Relying on Laurens’ (well, Mercer's) money is an entirely avoidable mistake.

“I realize that you’re touchy about money, but if you take it, at least you’ll have time for hobbies.”

“Christ. You fucking rich kids never understand the real world. If you actually learnt how to  _ talk  _ to people, then maybe you'd actually have friends and--” Hercules rolls his eyes, “ _ hobbies _ and wouldn't need to break into my goddamn apartment like some kind of predator.”

“You want me to go?” Laurens exhales. He’s always been disposable. “Just say the word and I'm gone.”

“I never asked you to stay!” Hercules pulse races, carotid artery visibly pumping beneath his skin. His hand reaches out, finding purchase on Laurens's shoulder in an effort to steady himself. Hercules’ eyes narrow as he clamps a vice-like grip on Laurens's collarbone. “Maybe if you could actually relate to anything I'm talking about…  if you weren't so fucked in the head with your daddy issues…”

“I don't care if you're drunk, high, or just need a fucking nap!” John declares, shoving Herc's hand off him. He presses a palm into his boyfriend’s chest, blocking Herc's path to the bedroom, surprised when he touches dampness. He hadn’t realized it was raining. “ **Nothing** gives you an excuse to speak to me like that.”

Hercules isn't his usual self. His body is rigid, coiled, tense and ready to strike. “Get out my way. I'm serious.” 

“Or what?” Laurens challenges, because if one thing is right, he's never backed down from a fight. 

“Or I'll rip your stitches out and let you die on the floor.” 

John steps aside. It doesn't matter that he doesn't have stitches anymore. That the stab wound is barely visible except for the precautionary butterfly bandages. Hercules has never spoken to him like that before. 

“I… Hercules…” Tears well in his eyes, nose burning as he resists the urge to cry. He sniffs, pinching his nose as he casts his eyes to the floor. He steels himself for a moment. Then slides the deadbolt out of place and yanks the door open. “I hope you have b-better manners in the morning. H-happy Valentine's Day.” 

Hercules doesn't have time for regret before the door slams shut behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Laurens wakes up to four voicemails and seven texts from Hercules. He browses through them briefly, squinting at the timestamps. He doesn’t bother to actually open them. They span through the night, which means Hercules hasn't slept yet. Laurens doesn't remember his phone ringing even once, but then again, he also doesn't remember drinking too much to be unable to recall renovating his bedroom. Because this isn't his bedroom.

_ Fuck _ . 

He eases his head -- which is loaded with rocks for some reason -- off the pillow and glances around with a groan. He’s more than aware of his nakedness, thankful that he doesn’t suffer that telltale morning-after soreness. He breathes a sigh of relief, safe in the knowledge that he didn’t let some stranger fuck him while he was too drunk to remember.

“Good morning! You want some tea?” 

_ Oh no. _ He may not have cheated on Herc with some strange guy, but this bedroom definitely belongs to this strange woman.

“Coffee?” the rosy-cheeked woman staring at him chuckles, and the lack of clothing on her does nothing to reassure Laurens. “I mean, you had a looooot to drink last night.”

“Right, and who are you?” 

“Peggy,” the girl says with a half-wave. Her yellow bathrobe, slipping off her shoulders is almost blinding. “It's… John, right? 

Laurens nods. “Sorry, uh, did we fuck?” 

“Oh, wow, no. We didn't. You were definitely up for it, though. I take you back here, and you were  _ handsy. _ ” The woman smiles fondly along with a shrug, “Then you had two more shots of tequila and started sobbing into my couch cushions about how your shitty boyfriend thinks you're stupid and ruined Valentine's day.”

Laurens blushes, “O-oh.”

“Yeah, he sounds like an ass. You should definitely break up with him… Anyway. Tea? Coffee? Orange juice? Hair of the dog?” 

“Just… Thanks for not having sex with me. While I was… Like that.” His head falls into his hands. 

“Oh, it's no problem, darlin’. If we ever fucked, I'd want you to remember it.” 

“If we didn’t have sex, why am I naked?”

“You puked all over your bathrobe. Y'know, after the crying. I threw it in the wash; it should be drying now. You fell asleep before I could bring you clean clothes.” Peggy's brow furrows as she approaches Laurens. She sits on the edge of the bed, and with hushed tones says: “I know it's not my place. I mean, we're just two losers who didn't fuck on Valentine's, y'know? But you're absolutely covered in bruises. Does your boyfriend ever hit you?”

“N-no. He's nothing like that. Really. We just had a fight about my parents. The bruises are from…" Laurens isn't even at liberty to explain the complexities of combat operations. "I'm a soldier.”

“Okay. But like I said, if he's calling you stupid, maybe he isn't the best choice in the world..?” Peggy points the chest of drawers beside the bed. “There are clean clothes in those drawers there. And you know what, John?”

“Hmm?” John vocalizes as he throws the sheets off him, exposing himself to the surprisingly warm air. 

“For the 20 or so minutes we spoke for, you seem pretty cool. I left my number on the fridge… So if you ever want to get coffee for real..?” 

“Yeah,” Laurens smiles, shrugging on a shirt that is  _ definitely  _ designed for someone taller. “I'd like that.”

  
  


* * *

“Good morning,  _ Major Laurens _ .” 

“What are you doing here, Hercules?” Laurens asks through the sliver of open door “Is something wrong?” Other than the fact that they haven't spoken in a week, and Laurens refuses to respond to Herc’s worried texts, using the base operations as an excuse. “You shouldn't be here, you're a civilian. It's not safe.”

“I'm also your boyfriend.” Hercules says with an air of confidence, but it wavers as he bows his head, “th-that is, if you'll still have me.”

“You never asked me to stay, I'm a predator who's got daddy issues and no friends. I'm an obstacle, and you wouldn't hesitate to kill me if it served your purposes.” Laurens’s grip on the door tightens, visible in the strain of his knuckles. “It was Valentine's Day, and instead of being able to spend time with my... I almost slept with some random girl.”

Herc’s eyebrows raise, “Did you..?” 

“I had too much tequila,” Laurens explains, and his face heats up, “started crying about you, threw up, then fell asleep.”

Hercules chuckles softly, reaching out to cradle Laurens’s face. “Aren't you the cutest thi--” 

“Don't touch me.” Laurens commands, pushing his weight against the door, trapping Herc's arm in the space of the narrow opening. 

“John, I'm--” 

“No. Do you know how much it took for me to tell you about my father? D… Do you know that you're the only one I've ever told?” With that, the guilt settles heavy on Herc’s chest. He swallows it down, unflinching in the awareness. He deserves to feel bad. The soldier had trusted him with vulnerability. And he had weaponized it, created a cheap switchblade to cut as deep as possible. The nuclear option, unnecessary and uncalled for for use in a petty argument. Laurens turns away in response to his name and rank being called. “Yes, Commander! I'll be right with you.”

Hercules uses the momentary distraction to push into the dorm room of the barracks, grip tight and urging on Laurens’ bicep. Laurens winces, struggling to get out of Herc’s hold, fingers wrapped tightly around Laurens’ already bruised limb.

“Hercules,  _ stop _ .” Laurens commands. His eyes search out potential aid, and he spots Captain Eacker behind him, ready to strike Hercules down where he stands, ready to protect his squad mate. “Let me go.”

“You won't answer my calls, you won't text me back.” Hercules presses, fighting against Laurens’s resistance. Laurens is strong enough to prevent Hercules from physically dragging him out of the barracks.

“Seriously, it hurts, get off me.”

“Not until you listen to me.”

“ _ Please _ ,” Laurens’s eyes widen, voice low and urgent as he tries to avoid causing a scene. He still needs to be able to come to work tomorrow and look his squad mates in the eye. He yanks at his arm in a futile attempt to get away. “Hercules, you’re  _ hurting _ me!” 

“I'm sorry.” Hercules chokes, letting go of his boyfriend.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” Laurens spits, cradling his arm. “You can’t just come here and disrupt operations like this. You can’t grab me and handle me however you feel. At what point did you stop having respect for me?”

“I respect you. I just… you wouldn’t let me explain and I--”

“So I should do as you instruct, or you’ll hurt me?” Laurens raises his good arm, carding a hand through his hair. He gestures to the space between them, attempting to keep his expression neutral as a distracting twinge settles in his arm. “Is that what I should be gaining from all this?”

“N-no! I would never…” Hercules shakes his head. His words sound cheap, even to him. He starts over. “Look… What happened… It was so fucking stupid. I should have just told you that… What you said reminded me of everything that was wrong with me and Lafayette, and I got scared. I pushed you away because I was so terrified at the prospect of having to depend on you. I understand the inherent risk, but… if you decide to  _ leave  _ me, John, if you go and get injured, get shot, I don't know what I'd…”

“I would literally die for you, and you…” Laurens seethes, “You brought my  _ father  _ into it. Because you  _ knew _ it would hurt me.”

“And that is never okay. I swore that I would never do that. So I'm here now, asking for you to forgive me.”

Laurens purses his lips, “Halve your hours at the Tailory, and I'll consider it.” 

“You know I can't do that. I'll do anything else, but I can't afford to t--” 

“No,” Laurens looks up to the sky, “and I won't budge on that. It's already a compromise, because I know you're too stubborn to quit.”

“Laurens,” Hercules can't dissuade his boyfriend not to help him; Laurens is too good-natured. 

“We're a team, Herc. You need to learn that you can depend on me, no matter what. And you're exhausted trying to handle it all by yourself. You don't sleep, you don't eat, you’re drinking, you’re angry. We don't have any moments of intimacy...” Lauren trails off, looking for the correct way to phrase what he wants to say. Unfortunately, he comes up empty. “We don't fuck! I get the feeling of insecurity, of financial troubles, and why you work so hard to prevent that. But I can't just stand back and wait until you collapse unconscious in the snow.”

“I understand.” Hercules grips Laurens’s waist, drags the soldier forward and into his chest.  Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the way Laurens’s squadmates are pretending not to see the situation unfolding. Pretending not to see the way Hercules runs a thumb along the Major's cheek, how his hand moves further back, fingers pulling at the curls. From their vantage points, though, they can't see the way Laurens responds, the way his eyes flutter shut, and his too-pink lips part with want. “I'll quit, John. I love you, and I will do anything in my power to show you that.” 

“I love you, you know I do.” Laurens murmurs. Hercules tugs on Laurens’s curls, eliciting a sharp intake of air, a shoddy attempt at smothering a moan. “Herc, here..?”

“I’d fuck you in front of King George and his royal court if I wanted to.” Hercules growls, lowering his mouth to Laurens’s ear. Laurens shivers, and for a moment, Hercules can feel the chemistry change. He scans John’s face and can reimagine that night he broke up with Lafayette. The very beginning of all of this. “But I still owe you a proper Valentine’s.”

“This discussion isn’t over.” Laurens’ eyes twinkle, “ _ but _ if I make it home in time, you can cook me dinner, and we can talk some more. We’ll see how it goes..?”

Hercules uses his free hand to frame Laurens’ face. “You have yourself a deal.”

* * *

 

  
“Major Laurens, I don’t like being kept waiting.”

“I understand, Sir.” Laurens says, standing at ease just ahead of the daylight streaming in through the bay windows. His feet stand over the only free space on the hardwood floor. Around him are shattered glasses and strewn papers, and collapsed chairs which resemble splinters more than anything useful. John has borne witness to this sort of fallout before. His father usually left the room worse than this after a rampage, but to be fair to Nathanael Greene, he isn’t partial to inebriation. “General Greene, you must know I appreciate your patience, both with granting my leave and accommodating my return.”

“I value your expertise, Laurens.” Greene comments, eyes still fixed on the edge of his desk, dagger stuck into the mahogany, tip of the blade embedded into the most expensive -- and only intact -- feature of the room. “Your father was a dear friend.”

Laurens swallows hard.

“Thankfully, I did not share his opinion of you.”

“That is relieving to hear, Sir.” Laurens exhales. It’s not as though he didn’t know. General Greene had always been far more compassionate than his father. He won’t gain any more scars today, but that doesn’t explain the reason for Hurricane Nathanael tearing up a room. “Is there a reason your mood has… soured?”

“Our movements were betrayed. We lost a number of good men.” Nathanael Greene’s face is stormy, “You are the only soldier I know to be loyal enough, to entrust with this mission.”

“And what mission is that?”

“To find the spy within our ranks.” 

“It’s not as simple as just choosing the foreigners. There are Frenchmen, Venezuelans, West Indians…”

“Which is why I'm trusting you. Start with this unit. Don't stop until you've found the mole.”

“Understood, Sir.”

 

There’s a long pause of silence, but neither man moves. Laurens isn't dismissed, but he has no urge to leave. 

 

“How do you feel this morning?”   
It's a routine question, but not out of General Greene's mouth. The weighted history between them is more than enough for Laurens to understand the reality of the question. 

General Greene has asked the question innumerable times over the past decade. Laurens remembers the first time all too well, despite drifting in and out of consciousness, searing pain lacing through his spine. Nathanael had looked after him, hadn't judged, hadn't begrudged the teenager's affinity for men over women. Even when his father had.

“I feel like I may be repeating my mother's mistake.”

Greene glances up, “You think you're becoming your father?” 

Laurens lays an arm out, “I would never hit Hercules, no matter what. But he can drink too much sometimes, and he does have his moments of… rage.”

“ _ Rage _ ? Has he ever hit you?” 

“Not on purpose. He's grabbed me a couple of times, but that's it.”

“How many times do you think your mother said that?”

Laurens clenches his teeth.

 


End file.
